


Sully Serves the King

by BlackhurstManor



Series: WoW: The Mercenaries [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: For the Horde!, M/M, Masturbation, Nsfw wow, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Oral Sex, Royalty, Sin'dorei, World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth, Zandalari Have It Going On, Zandalari trolls, blood elf bois
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:15:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27327163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackhurstManor/pseuds/BlackhurstManor
Summary: To secure the Horde's future, sin'dorei mercenary Sulveras Sellsword is tasked with doing whatever it takes to please the Zandalari Empire and its regent, the God King Rastakhan. That means dirty work. All sorts of dirty work.
Relationships: Rastakhan/Original Male Character
Series: WoW: The Mercenaries [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774012
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	Sully Serves the King

God King Rastakhan listened to Zul the Prophet, so patiently and quietly Sulveras half wondered if he was carved from the same stone and gold his throne – his pyramid – was built from.

“A clever ruse to sidestep prophecy,” Rastakhan said at last, his steady voice bringing stillness to the throne room. It was just the three of them: the God King on his throne, the hunched prophet Zul before him, and Sulveras standing silently aside, the blood from Zul’s old pupil still dripping from his blades.

“It is as I always say, Great King,” Zul said, gesturing to Sulveras – his first recognition of the blood elf since they arrived together. “You must plan for de futures you do not see coming. Vol’jamba did not.”

“As you say,” Rastakhan said simply, his heavy gaze flicking to Sulveras, standing half-shrouded in shadows. Sulveras squared his shoulders and straightened his posture under the gaze. “You may go, Prophet.”

Zul swept as deep a bow as his stooped back would allow, then turned and left without any further regard for the sindorei who had made today’s victory possible. Sulveras made no move; he had not been dismissed, and enough of his military training remained to fix him at his spot until he was told what to do.

“Step forward, sindorei,” said the God King. Sulveras kept his palms on the pommels of his blades to steady them and did so. On overcast days the Great Throne Room was a cave; on brighter days like today, a wide V of sunlight began at the entrance and terminated at the throne, illuminating those who stood before the God King and obscuring those who did not. Sulveras never sought this level of scrutiny; but he did not shy from it, either.

“You wear de garb of our warriors,” Rastakhan said, in that way that kings could turn simple statements into questions.

“They’re a lot more comfortable in these humid climes than what I brought,” said Sulveras, truthfully. Though a functional man, he very much liked the gold ornamentation and comfortable silks of Zanadalari warriors. That the armor left his legs and chest bared and his ass easy to access seemed to please Gabriel, too. “They do the job well, and the craftsmanship is exquisite. It was the only move.”

But for the steady rise and fall of his chest, Rastakhan did not budge. Nonetheless, he felt the God King’s gaze slide over him, assess him; boldly, he did the same. It would be easy to conceive of Rastakhan as lazy, and out of touch; but Sulveras saw how powerful his form still was, saw how even his conniving Council wilted under his gaze. There was much power in the king yet.

“What is your assessment of de work you did for Zul today?”

“It is as he said,” Sulveras said simply. Even his gaze faltered under Rastakhan’s; Sulveras let his settle somewhere around the God King’s midsection, framed in gold. He was impossibly broad, even for his people, with clearly defined muscles framed artfully in spare gold armor. Sulveras found his gaze following the V of the God King’s pelvis to the gold carving of his belt and lingering there.

Powerful indeed.

Sulveras moved to clarify but found his mouth dry. He swallowed and started again.

“Zul knew he would not kill the man himself, so he brought someone who would. I played my part.”

“I see,” said the God King. “And what of his tone?”

Alert, Sulveras almost met Rastakhan’s gaze. The part of him that still had use for decorum kept his eyes at chest level instead; the impertinent side of him wondered not for the first time if Zandalari men’s chests tasted as rocky as they looked. 

“Highness?”

“Zul, de Prophet,” Rastakhan said simply. “What do you think of his tone toward me?”

“As contemptuous as he is with anyone else,” Sulveras said. “Presumably that’s why you take his counsel seriously.”

“Hm,” Rastakhan said. A statement. A question.

The air hung heavy and humid between them. Decorum kept Sulveras’s mouth shut even as he did, finally, meet the God King’s gaze. Decorum kept his tongue still for as long as it could last.

But decorum was never Sulveras’s strong suit.

“But,” the sindorei began.

Rastakhan did not move, did not speak. Only waited.

“Most subordinates who snap back are barking dogs,” Sulveras said, and – absurdly – felt himself blush. It was probably just the heat; sweat was beading all over him. “They make a little noise to spare their own dignity and go right back to following orders.”

Sulveras closed his mouth and bowed his head a little.

“You think Zul is one of these? A harmless barking dog?”

“No,” Sulveras said quietly. “I think he is no longer patient enough to hide his intentions.”

Silence once more. Sulveras kept his eyes fixed somewhere on the red loin cloth between the God King’s slab-like thighs. Sunlight beat at Sulveras’s back, making sweat bead and roll down his brow, his chest, his arms, his legs. He wanted very badly to be dismissed from this place.

“Dis is a very dangerous thing for an outsider to say,” Rastakhan said. Another damnable non-question.

“I serve the Horde,” Sulveras said quietly. “The Horde needs your power. And there is no world in which Zul the Prophet is easier to deal with than you. It is as simple as that, Highness.”

“You serve de Horde,” Rastakhan said, tone lifting as he made a show of following Sulveras’s train of thought. “So, you serve me.”

“Yes, Highness,” Sulveras said, quieter still.

“Step forward, sindorei.”

Sulveras did so, masking hesitation in deliberate slowness. He stepped up to the throne, carved in all its golden glory, and stood before the God King sitting proudly in his throne, knees spread, hands resting on either side of him. The sindorei did not know where to look: at his chest, at his thickly corded thighs, at his arms, at that skull-like golden belt buckle or the vivid red loincloth draped beneath it.

Hands on his pommels, head bowed, Sulveras waited there, a mere foot in front of the God King.

“Your instincts are good,” Rastakhan said, voice dropping to a growl so low Sulveras found himself leaning ever so slightly forward just to capture the shape of the words. “And dere are futures I must plan for. Especially the one you and I both see coming.”

“Highness,” Sulveras said in agreement, hating himself for how meek he sounded. He wished desperately to wipe the sweat from his face or swallow the wetness gathering in his mouth, but did not dare budge this close to the God King’s scrutiny.

“You will serve me in de dark times ahead,” he said. A statement. A question.

“Highness,” Sulveras said again, quieter still. He watched the V of the God King’s pelvis flex and felt a stir low in his own stomach.

“Serve me now, sindorei,” Rastakhan said.

“Kneel.”

Sulveras knelt, giddy with the drug of inevitability. The Great Throne Room had become, he thought, like a vault: silent and locked away, a world unto itself. One where he found himself on his knees between Rastakhan’s, gazing up at the impassive visage of the God King as the loincloth before him seemed to stir with life rising beneath it, heartbeat by heartbeat.

_The God King asked for service_ , Sulveras thought distantly, finding his confidence in familiar territory once more. _And if there is one thing I’m better at handling than blades…_

Sulveras pressed his hands to Rastakhan’s inner thighs, gliding them up to feel the coarse strength of the God King and spread them wider. His skin was fever-hot to the touch, and tough like leather; but following his fingers with his lips, Sulveras was delighted to discover he tasted like a man all the same.

The sindorei did not look up as he tucked his hands beneath the God King’s loincloth; his trepidation had dissolved entirely into sating the curiosity burning in him, and so he was fixated entirely on that loincloth and what waited for him beneath it. He heard, distantly, Rastakhan’s chest rumble at the touch.

Wrapping his calloused hand around the thickening base of the God King’s cock, Sulveras flicked the loincloth over his hip to bare Rastakhan to his gaze at last.

Gods help him, Sulveras smirked at what greeted him.

The God King Rastakhan was a massive man, even by Zandalari standards. He seemed half a foot broader and a foot taller than even his mightiest warriors, with a power to his build that suggested he could rend a tree in half if he felt the need.

The word for Rastakhan’s cock was imperious. Even as Sulveras joined his hands at the base and felt it thicken and rise to the pulse of the God King’s heartbeat, he could see this was a proud specimen: thick and curved upward, a regal instrument of war in a deep shining violet-blue flesh.

_I simply must be fucked by this man_ , Sulveras thought. _But first, the job at hand._

Tracking his fel-green gaze up the God King’s body to meet the other man’s gaze, Sulveras hefted Rastakhan’s heavy cock and parted his lips and snaked his tongue out to capture the God King’s heavy balls. He suckled hungrily at one and then the other, drawing his hand up and down the length of Rastakhan’s shaft.

Sulveras’s free hand found itself under his own loincloth, grasping his own fiercely throbbing cock and stroking it in half-time to the service he rendered to the God King. He had not asked permission to pleasure himself, but if he did not do something to ease his own tension, he thought he may very well die on the spot.

Sulveras drew the flat of his tongue up the underside of Rastakhan’s cock in one long, lingering lick. The God King’s cock no longer needed help standing upright, but Sulveras held the base of him tight all the same, like a Hallow’s Eve sweet to lick to his heart’s content. And he did. Sulveras had briefly flirted with “putting on a show”; but with his hand busily working his own cock and blood thundering in his brain, Sulveras surrendered to the raw need of the man he was pleasuring.

Saliva dribbled from his lips as he licked and kissed the length of Rastakhan’s cock. He did not yet tease or taste the head; for now, he wanted to savor the length of him, the weight of him. Dipping his head once more to suck on Rastakhan’s testicles until his cheeks hollowed, Rastakhan’s length laid across his face. And twitched.

The God King was evidently pleased at the sight.

Madness seized Sulveras, madness and hunger. The God King was quite possibly too big for him to handle, but he gasped and sucked the head between his lips eagerly all the same. Pumping the length of Rastakhan’s cock in the right hand and his own in the left, Sulveras swallowed, and swallowed, and swallowed; the swollen blue head of the God King battered at the back of his throat, powered only by the force at which Sulveras threw himself to the task.

Spit and pre-cum slickened Rastakhan’s length and dribbled over Sulveras’s stroking hand. The sindorei fucked his mouth on the God King’s lap, and inch by inch, gag by gag, his efforts were rewarded: the God King’s impassive façade was cracking. First his chest, rising and falling more rapidly with every sweet suckle and lick. Then his hands, gripping harder and curling in on the arms of his throne.

And, at last, a grunt. And then another. And then a heavy hand, tangling massive fingers into the sindorei’s messy blonde hair, guiding the blood elf in how best to please the cock of the God King.

They were framed in a slice of dying sunlight: Rastakhan hunched in his throne, spreading his knees wider as he pressed the sindorei’s bobbing head in his lap. The blood elf’s back was arched as he stroked himself, ass presented to the empty space behind him as if expecting a third to lift his loincloth and mount him at any moment.

Tension filled the God King’s thighs as Sulveras sucked his length; a building urgency whose signs he knew well. Sulveras withdrew to suck on the blunt head of Rastakhan’s cock, cheeks hollowed and a small, begging cry rising in his throat. Slickened by spit, he stroked his hand faster and faster, base to tip, clapping against his lips before drawing down again. Furiously Sulveras worked his own cock, but even his own rising pleasure was an afterthought.

Serve, the God King had commanded. And he would.

Gladly.

Rastakhan’s grunts sped up, blurred together, became one long low groan. His light grip on Sulveras’s head fisted into something implacable, holding the sindorei’s head in place as the coiling in his pelvis grew unbearable.

It came at once, violent like a storm. Rastakhan cracked his head back in his throne, the gold of his crown striking the gold of his seat. His hips lifted and knees parted wider still as he shoved Sulveras down and invaded him; and there he held as he filled the blood elf’s mouth and throat with thick bursts of hot seed.

Somewhere, distantly, Sulveras’s own cum spattered the stones before the throne.

Spent, the God King sagged in his throne, then straightened. Sulveras, chin slick with spit and cum, caught his breath and gently licked the sides of Rastakhan’s flagging cock. When it draped low between his thighs, shiny with spit and clean of cum, Sulveras stood once more.

The God King, once more the statue, said nothing.

“Highness,” Sulveras said, for lack of anything else to say.

“You serve well,” Rastakhan said, finally. “Be ready for my call.”

“I will be, Highness,” Sulveras said, and chanced to meet the God King’s gaze one final time. “Any call.”

The silence that followed was dismissal, and Sulveras took it. 


End file.
